Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
NIKO
They shoved him through the door of a cell, hard enough that, with his hands cuffed, he lost his balance and fell to his knees on the jagged stones.
The door slammed shut behind him, and the key clicked in the lock.
Footsteps retreated, and he clocked them as he’d been trained to do: Berezin’s, a slight hitch in his gait from an old wound, and Morozov’s, lighter, quicker.
Their boots thudded on the stones, retreating into the distance until, at last, he was alone.
Niko remained on his knees in his damp clothes, his vision adjusting to the darkness.
There wasn’t so much as a window in this cell, and the air was fetid and still.
Was this what they had done to his Dimi, too—locked her away, deprived her of air and sunlight?
Treated her like a criminal, rather than as the brave, beautiful warrior who’d braved the Underworld for him?
The thought filled him with fury, and with an effort, he fought it back.
He didn’t know much about the shades that had streamed from his fingers four times now, but one thing he did know was that, every time, they’d been accompanied by a heightened emotion: protectiveness, anger, desire.
If he could control his emotions, then maybe he could control them.
Because every time he freed them, a little more of himself slipped away.
Enough times, and there would be nothing left of him but the Dark.
And then you will be the perfect mate for me, Elena crooned inside his head. You were always meant for me. Never her—
Gritting his teeth, he dug his nails into his palms until he drew blood.
It hurt, as it was meant to, but it also silenced her.
He’d bleed himself a little more every day if it would make her leave him alone.
It could be a race to see what ran out first: his lifeblood, or his soul, devoured by the Darkness.
Truly, though, he felt…strange. Stranger than usual, that is, as if whatever was anchoring him aboveground was faltering, somehow. As if he were flickering in and out of existence.
He glanced down at his hands, still clenched into fists, then spread his fingers wide.
As best as he could make out in the gloom, he was still very much here.
The edges of the stones still dug into his knees, the cold of what must be Rivki’s dungeons still seeped through his sodden gear, the stench of the air still polluted his lungs. But then why did he feel so adrift?
He forced himself to his feet, turned, and staggered toward the front of the cell.
The cuffs allowed him to spread his hands just enough to grip the adjoining bars, and he held tight, despite the burn of the onyx welded into the iron.
There would be no Changing inside this cell, not that he would be able to escape even in the form of his black dog.
He didn’t know why they’d bothered to chain him.
But the burn anchored him, much as the pain had.
He would find a way to fight, somehow. He would loop his chains around the necks of the Shadows that had imprisoned and humiliated him, and he would choke the life from them, until they were the ones on their knees. A smile lifted his lips at the thought…and then died as quickly as it had come.
The Shadows of the Druzhina had disgraced and mistreated him, true.
They had done Saints-knew-what to Katerina.
But was he really thinking of killing them—his brothers in arms, who fought only in the name of the Light?
Before Elena’s curse had claimed him, would he have considered such a thing, even in the face of such rough treatment?
With a low growl, he spun away from the bars and retreated to the back of the cell. Exhaustion pulled at him, and he lay down on the cold stone, closing his eyes. Maybe if he centered himself, if he thought hard enough, he could figure a way out of this somehow.
He reached for Katerina through their bond, hoping for reassurance that she lived. If these bastards had killed her, it would break him.
In the interrogation chamber, he’d felt little…
just the barest sense that she still walked the earth, keeping him from losing his mind entirely.
But now, he could swear he heard her calling to him, summoning him.
He let himself drift, reaching for her as sleep swept over him with the force of a wave, pulling him under.
If I dream, he thought, let me dream of her.
For a moment, there was nothing. Darkness, silence. And then, a rushing sensation, as if he were tipping over the edge of a waterfall, flying, falling, bodiless.
Free.
Time stuttered, then started up again, in the strange way of dreams. And then he found himself lying beside Katerina on yet another icy stone floor, one of his palms resting against her cheek.
The air smelled different here: sage and wormwood, mugwort and garlic.
Outside the cell’s bars, water flowed, cradling bowls of burning herbs.
Katerina stirred, blinking at him as if he’d woken her. Her face was smudged with dirt, her hair tangled, but he didn’t care about any of that. All he saw was her.
“Niko?” she said, her voice hoarse. “But how—”
He threaded his hands into her hair and pressed his lips to hers. “I thought I lost you.” The words were a broken whisper. “I thought I might never see you again.”
His Dimi held him tight, and that horrible sense of disconnection began to fade, replaced by an ease he only felt when he was with her. He was where he belonged. They were together, now, and somehow everything would be all right.
“I’m here,” she promised. “I’ve missed you so much. I thought maybe they tortured you for answers…that it would be too much, after everything you went through—”
He gave a rough laugh, torn from his chest. “They tried.”
Katerina cupped his face in both hands. “If you’re really here,” she said, her dark eyes boring into his gray ones, “then kiss me.”
Inside Niko, doubt stirred. But why? It was only a dream, after all. “Your wish is my command,” he said, and lowered his mouth to hers.
She smiled against his lips. And then he was kissing her, moving against her, somehow everywhere at once: stroking her breasts, nipping at her neck, running his hands over her skin. He was cold, so cold, and she was heat, she was fire, she was what he needed.
He didn’t make either of them wait, terrified that the dream would slip from his grasp, that he’d wake to find himself cold and alone once more.
Instead, he slid a hand beneath her waistband and stroked her, sinking two fingers deep.
She moaned into his mouth, eager, and his cock swelled against her belly, desperate to be inside her.
“Katya,” he muttered, wanting to tell her so, but she pulled back, sliding downward, taking him in her mouth, and it was—Saints, it was too much, it was everything. The sweet suction of her mouth, the way she took all of him, swallowing around him—
He pulled back, urging her upward. “Don’t tease me,” he warned her when she tried to linger. “Not tonight.”
Relenting, she let him pull her on top of him, tracing the lines of his body as she went, with something approaching reverence. It was wrong for her to touch him that way, as if she worshipped him, as if he mattered, because—
Fool, Elena’s voice whispered, but he refused to listen. All that mattered was Katerina, kissing him, digging her fingernails into his shoulders, telling him to stay here, to stay with her.
“Always,” he told her, even though it wasn’t a promise he could keep.
Somehow, her pants slid off—had he done that?
But no, his hands were buried in her hair.
She must have done it herself, somehow, even though she’d been touching him the whole time.
But it didn’t matter, because this was a dream, and in dreams, there were no rules.
And God, when she sank down onto him, already clenching around him, when she started to move, he thought he might die and die happy.
There was some reason he shouldn’t be doing this, beyond all of the usual reasons that they should absolutely not be doing this, but for the life of him, he couldn’t think of what it was.
All he could do was thrust into her heat, telling her how gorgeous she was, how he would never want anyone else, how he had loved her all his life.
He waited for her magic to flow over his skin, the way it usually did, touching him everywhere that her hands could not, driving him wild.
But it never came. Instead, she bent over him, seeking his mouth.
The tips of her breasts brushed his chest as he gave her what she wanted, sucking on her tongue, one of his hands gripping her hip while the other slipped between them, driving her higher.
And Saints, everything he gave her, she gave back a hundredfold. She was writhing on top of him now, begging him, trembling all around him, on the edge. He slid his hand lower, to the place where they were joined, then took hold of both of her hips and lifted her, let her fall, lifted her again…
And then she was crying his name, gripping him so tight he couldn’t breathe, and he was following her over the edge, coming so hard he felt the pulse of it everywhere.
The Darkness that had dogged him for weeks was gone, replaced with a pure explosion of Light that healed him, made him whole.
He buried his face in Katerina’s hair, breathing her in, whispering words of gratitude, and she clutched him back just as tightly.
“I love you,” he told her. “Come whatever storms.”
Then, as if his words had summoned it, the same wave that had swept him down into sleep took hold of him again, ripping him from Katerina’s arms. It caught him up, buoying him, carrying him away from her.
She was answering him, calling for him, but her voice grew smaller and smaller, until finally he couldn’t hear it anymore, at all.